


Of Care And Companionship

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Series: Athos, Animals, And Alliteration [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos despairs when Athos endangers his own life for so trivial a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Care And Companionship

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [Kinkmeme](http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org) prompt:
> 
> "Give Athos a puppy. No, not D'artagnan.
> 
> Idc how, maybe he rescues it, maybe the King gives him one for a job well done, maybe the others know he could use one in his life.
> 
> Bonus for Athos already having a cat."
> 
> It did (unsurprisingly) become more of an Athos/Porthos hurt/comfort kind of thing - sorry!

Aramis’s figure was nothing more than an ill-defined blur a few feet in front of him as the smoke thickened around them, threatening to envelop them forever in its suffocating clutches.

Then, suddenly, Porthos slammed into a wall of cool air that struck him like a blow. Stumbling forwards, he came to a halt beside Aramis and d’Artagnan, each man gasping in welcome lungfuls of the fresh air, blinking the grit of the smoke from their eyes.

“Where is Athos?”

D’Artagnan’s question sliced through the hazy remains of smoky confusion in Porthos’s mind, triggering a clarity that brought with it a tightening in his chest that was worse than the effects of the smoke. 

He spun around, a movement that sent a wave of dizziness through him that he shrugged off as he searched in vain for any sign of Athos. “He was right there, behind me.”

And he had been, of that Porthos was certain. How had he failed to notice Athos hadn’t followed him out of the burning building?

His feet were already carrying him back toward what was now an inferno of raging flame and billowing smoke, all thoughts of his own safety forgotten. Aramis’s shout barely registered as the heat of the fire pressed against him once more, trying to halt his advance.

Reaching the doorway, his vision was instantly obscured by roiling plumes of dense smoke and he realised with a horrifying stab of fear just how impossible it would be to find one man amidst the chaos of such a furnace.

But barely had he taken two steps inside when the smoke in front of him began to solidify into the shape of a man. Porthos blindly grabbed at it, hoping it wasn’t merely a phantom conjured by the thick black clouds and flickering firelight, a trick, but his fingers found leather, met with firm resistance, and he tugged desperately until cool air washed over him once more.

Athos sagged against him, held upright only by Porthos’s iron grip, a hold he was loath to relinquish so as not to lose the tangible proof that Athos was beside him, safe.

Immediately his vision cleared, Porthos looked Athos over, searching for signs of injury. There were clear tracks in the soot that dusted his cheeks, left by tears induced by the stinging smoke, but no visible evidence of blood. He breathed a sigh of relief, and it was only as he allowed himself to finally relax that he noticed Athos was cradling something that bulged in the front of his doublet, held securely to his chest.

“Athos, if that is a bottle of brandy I swear I– ” His threat went unvoiced as the bulge moved, squirmed in Athos’s grasp. Athos loosened his hold and a small furry head pushed its way free of its confines.

Porthos gaped as he registered the reason Athos had ventured back into the fire, wondering just what had possessed the man to endanger his own life for something so insignificant. It was d’Artagnan – as he and Aramis crowded around them – who broke the stunned silence.

“Is that a puppy?” The young Gascon sounded far less bemused than Porthos felt, more impressed with Athos’s selfless act than a dog really warranted.

Scooping the dog out of his doublet, Athos thrust it into d’Artagnan’s arms just as he was overcome by a fit of coughing that tore through his body, sending him to his knees. Porthos went with him, bracing him as he fought for air. Aramis knelt before them, one hand on Athos’s shoulder as he observed his friend with concern, made anxious by his inability to do anything to lessen the effects of the smoke.

Finally, after two minutes that felt almost like a lifetime, the coughing subsided. Athos took a couple of shallow, shaky breaths before attempting to speak, his voice a raw whisper. “We need to…go after them.”

He was speaking of the men they had come here in search of, the men who had tried to trap the Musketeers inside a house set to burn. A number of them now lay dead inside the conflagration of their own making, but a few had escaped.

“Athos, you are in no state for a chase.” Aramis spoke softly but firmly, inviting no argument.

Athos paid no heed. “They must be stopped.”

Aramis clearly recognised the truth of his words, but remained unswayed, resolute in his opinion. He offered a compromise. “D’Artagnan and I will ride after them. You must return home.”

A moment’s pause, during which Porthos knew Athos was considering a protest, but, finally, he gave a nod of consent. “Go.”

The three men rose, Porthos maintaining his steadying hold on Athos, and Aramis cast one more glance at Athos to make sure the man was in no danger of imminent collapse. Satisfied, he looked to Porthos with a silent appeal to take care of their comrade that Porthos acknowledged with a dip of his chin, although neither man really needed to either voice or confirm such a request. Knowing Athos was in safe hands, Aramis dashed off to fetch his horse.

Before d’Artagnan turned to follow, he hoisted the bundle in his arms and held it out to Athos. “I think this little fella should go with you.”

“Porthos, could you…” Athos gestured for Porthos to take the puppy, but Porthos made no move to relieve d’Artagnan of the thing. Instead, he frowned at it, wanting to tell Athos to forget the damned dog; he didn’t want a reminder of the foolish rescue that had sent such fear through him when he thought Athos lost.

Then fingers squeezed his arm. He hadn’t lost Athos, and he couldn’t forsake the evidence of the man’s kind heart, however misplaced he believed it in this instance.

D’Artagnan seemed reluctant to entrust the puppy to Porthos’s care, but a glance at Athos convinced him to hand it over. The creature gave a weak wriggle of protest, but soon settled into the crook of Porthos’s arm.

With his other arm secure around Athos’s waist, Porthos led him away from the crackling remains of the ravaged house.

* * * *

Athos had recovered a little of his strength by the time they entered his apartment, but he was still assailed by a fit of coughing every few minutes that left him trembling against Porthos’s side. Each attack, however, seemed less severe than the last, alleviating Porthos’s concern in equal measure.

As he closed the door, Porthos heard a thump and wasn’t surprised to find himself under the scrutiny of a sharp feline gaze. The cat was frozen mid-step, warily eyeing the new arrivals, whiskers twitching as she caught the scent of both smoke and another animal. Dubious of what these strange things might portend, she slunk away to a corner, jumping onto a chair so she could observe from a safe distance.

Athos gently lifted the puppy from Porthos, wrapped the shivering creature in a blanket, then fetched a pitcher of water and knelt on the floor. Porthos watched, astonished, as he began to clean the dog, pouring some of the water into his palm for the dog to lap up.

“Athos, the mutt can wait. You need to get yourself cleaned up.”

“I’ll see to myself in a moment. I just need to – ”

“Athos!” Porthos dropped to a crouch beside Athos, but the man continued to ignore him, engrossed in his ministrations. Frustration fought with affection; why couldn’t Athos see that this disregard for his own wellbeing was awful to witness. How was Porthos supposed to make Athos realise how important he was to him when the man gave such little value to his own life. “Whatever possessed you to go back?”

“I couldn’t leave him.” Stated in a matter-of-fact manner that suggested he believed his actions had been perfectly rational.

“What about me?”

“I knew you were safe. You had already reached the door.”

“And if you hadn’t come back out?”

Athos’s hand stilled as it slowly began to dawn on him that he hadn’t once considered Porthos’s feelings.

“You scared me.”

Porthos rarely admitted to suffering fear, and this stark confession made Athos look up and meet his eyes, surely able to read every emotion as plainly as if they were written there.

Stricken, Athos closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest, engulfed by remorse. “I’m sorry.”

Porthos put a hand to his jaw, gently forcing Athos to raise his head, his thumb brushing over a sooty cheek, leaving a black smear in its wake, and Athos leant into the touch. Apology, forgiveness, and acceptance all passed silently between them through that physical connexion.

The reverential hush was broken only when Athos again began to cough. Porthos waited for him to catch his breath.

“Go and get yourself cleaned up,” he instructed again, this time more softly. “I’ll look after the mutt for you.”

With a nod of acquiescence, Athos rose and went through to the other room, and Porthos soon heard the unmistakable clink of a bottle, followed a few moments later by the sound of splashing water. Despite the close bond that existed between them, Athos sometimes needed to be reminded that there were those who cared enough about him that they suffered whenever he did something foolish; Porthos wanted him to know just how deep that devotion ran, even if he lacked the eloquence others seemed able to employ so easily.

A wet tongue licking at his hand drew Porthos’s attention back to the rescued puppy.

“What are we gonna do with you, eh?” he muttered, no longer able to muster the irritation that would have had him resenting the creature. The response came in the form of a hopeful whine coupled with a wide-eyed appeal.

Shaking his head at this blatant attempt to garner his affection, Porthos nevertheless went in search of a few scraps to feed to the dog. It gobbled them down hungrily, tail drumming a tattoo against the wooden floorboards as the food worked to revive the bedraggled creature. Porthos gently brushed away some of the soot that still clung to the dog’s coat, restoring its natural, light brown colouring.

Suddenly aware that he was being watched, Porthos looked up to find Athos standing in the doorway, soot-free and dressed in fresh clothing, watching him with a faint smile on his lips.

“What?” Porthos asked gruffly, feigning a tetchiness he longer felt, and was rewarded with a more substantial smile as Athos joined him, not at all fooled by his pretense. The puppy immediately went to Athos, placing its front feet on his thighs in an attempt to reach his face to greet him with a thorough licking. Clearly amused, and pleased to see the dog looking much perkier, Athos scrubbed the animal’s ears with a gentle vigour that set its tail wagging happily.

Athos stood and moved to the bed, the puppy following at his heels and jumping up beside him as he sat, rolling over onto its back to present its belly for a scratch. Athos instantly obliged.

Porthos removed his boots, belt and doublet, and joined Athos on the bed, sitting with his back to the wall. He reached out and tugged Athos to him, meeting with no resistance as Athos sank back against him. Porthos curled a hand over Athos’s hip and pressed a kiss to his shoulder where his undershirt hung loosely, revealing bare skin. The acrid tang of smoke still lingered in Athos’s hair, but that mattered little when he was otherwise clean, warm, alive.

“I don’t deserve you, Porthos.” Athos’s voice was soft, but his words were clear in the quiet room.

Porthos gave a dismissive grunt of disagreement. “You’re a good man, Athos.” His gaze flickered briefly and meaningfully to the puppy under Athos’s hand. “Maybe sometimes a little _too_ selfless.”

It wasn’t the reprimand it could have been; Athos’s noble altruism was one of his finest qualities, and Porthos didn’t want to change that. He only wished it wasn’t accompanied by a tendency towards self-destruction. Athos gave a contrite nod of acknowledgement and understanding.

This time Porthos’s lips found Athos’s jaw, tickled by the bristles of his beard until Athos turned his head to capture them with his own. Porthos’s arm tightened around Athos’s waist as he licked into his mouth, claiming, convincing. Athos responded feverishly, pressing into Porthos’s chest and twisting his neck to get a better angle.

When they eventually parted, they remained where they sat, reluctant to lose the contact between them, savouring the intimacy of both their proximity and the companionship they shared. Out of the corner of his eye, Porthos spotted those shrewd feline eyes scrutinizing them once more.

“I think someone’s jealous.”

Athos huffed a small laugh. “We have been ignoring her, I can understand her being a little upset.” He patted a clear spot on the bed beside them. “Come here, Aurore.”

If a cat could look unimpressed, Aurore achieved it then, but Athos’s persistence paid off; a graceful leap brought the cat to the foot of the bed and she began a cautious approach.

Excited by this potential new playmate, the puppy jumped up, only to be brought to a halt as Athos grasped its scruff to prevent it scaring the cat. The animals assessed each other, the dog enthusiastic, the cat tentative, and Porthos expecting fur to start flying any moment. Aurore’s tail, however, eventually twitched upright as she accepted the presence of the new arrival, before she proceeded to dismiss them all and curled up at Athos’s feet. The puppy, too, settled back down, its chin propped on Athos’s thigh, its tail sweeping contentedly over the counterpane.

“I think they’ll be friends,” Athos decided, his smile evident in his voice.

Porthos huffed in good-natured resignation. “If you keep collectin’ strays, there’ll be no room left for me in this bed.” Maybe, Porthos thought, he should consider himself one such stray, but he knew Athos would never think of him in that way – their mutual affection was born of something deeper than a caring benevolence, something that was confirmed when he felt a hand cover his where it still lay at Athos’s hip.

“There will always be room for you, Porthos.”

His heart lighter than it had been for hours, Porthos grinned against Athos’s temple and held him in a secure embrace until he fell asleep. Porthos remained awake, maintaining a watchful vigilance over both man and beasts until they were cocooned by the gathering darkness, and he joined them in a peaceful slumber.


End file.
